The Songstone

Dad, do 'Who wants to be a millionaire'. You do realize you'll win, right? I tried once, in 2000, made 100 phone calls and got one call back: how high in feet is the highest waterfall in the world? 10 seconds, no peeking. That was in 2000, now it's 19 years later, way more knowledge, try again. Maybe, but I thought it had finished. Jermy Clarkson does it now HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA. Does he? No way, then. But why? It'd be good, you can indirectly insult him; also you could seriously win. If I got to the hot seat I could win a good amount, yes, even if not a million. Yea, you could do it. Thanks for the confidence. I just want the inheritance. You greedy sod, you've already got loads from your mother's family. But I want more. Then earn it. Plus I'll be more than 30 when I inherit that money then I'll be unfuckable. Let me get this right, you want me to be on Millionaire and win so I can pop my clogs quick and leave you all th

Jiangxi province in China has come up with a new way to make people pay their debts. In future, those debtors blacklisted by the Higher People's Court in the province will suffer the ignominy of having all calls to their phone number prefaced with this: The person you are calling has been put on a blacklist by the Higher People's Court of Jiangxi for failing to repay their debts. Please urge the person to fulfill their legal obligations. Judge Zeng said that compared to traditional ways of exposing 'laolai' this was '… more effective. They usually just repay their debts because they don't want to lose face to their friends and relatives.' Not a bad idea, although given that I have not made or received an actual phone call for some years now (why would I, when instant messaging apps with video calling options are free and ubiquitous?), the impact may not be as thorough as hoped.

That result put me in the box against the Phoenician. After a series of volatile exchanges we reached this position with the Phoenician rolling 4-4. After barely a heartbeat, he played 4off(3), 6-2! 'Fuck that!' shouted Mint ( He had not had a refill for 20 minutes and Cautious had dropped my initial double). 'You can't leave a blot there!' 'Want a gammon, no?' and he picked up the dice. Mint put his head in his hands and groaned while Cautious chortled in the corner.

Over New Year at the Double and Drop, some of the usual crowd came in and out for the chouette. Murray the Mint had had too much Christmas cheer and was steaming more violently than usual; Cautious George was still wedded to the plays that had served him well in 1975; the Phoenician was his normal self: devastating with the checker play and utterly reckless with the cube. For the first game Cautious was in the box (red) against me; we quite soon reached this position: After a while he redoubled and showed some sign of anxiety when Mint and the Phoenician took without a second's hesitation. After some thought, I did too, although I wasn't convinced. 5 turns later we reached this with me on roll: and 3 cubes raced across the board towards the unhappy Cautious, who immediately offered us 3 each. I was happy to bank the cash but Mint and the Phoenician were having none of that. Mint took my place, made a great show of rattling and shaking and

Sacré cordon bleu! Chef Marc Veyrat has lost his case against the Guide Michelin for downgrading his restaurant from 3 stars ('one of the best') to 2 (merely 'excellent'). The overstrung onion chopper claimed this event 'threw me into a profound depression' and that it was 'worse than the loss of my parents, worse than anything'. Mille tonnerres (or perhaps mille tommes )! The worst insult, apparently, was the suggestion that the histrionic hors d'oeuvres server might have used English cheddar in his soufflé . He was also 'dishonoured' that Michelin had taken his 'virtual scallops to be real scallops when they were made from a base of Lake Geneva burbot livers'. Well, quite. M. Veyrat charges €395 (plus the wine) for the Menu 'La Grande Fête dans les Etoiles' and no doubt it's worth every sou(s chef ). Business is, by his own admission, 'booming'; I'm sure losing this case will

omnes hi metuunt versus, odere poetas. 'faenum habet in cornu, longe fuge; dummodo risum excutiat sibi, non hic cuiquam parcet amico et quodcumque semel chartis inleverit, omnis gestiet a furno redeuntis scire lacuque et pueros et anus.' agedum pauca accipe contra. primum ego me illorum, dederim quibus esse poetis, excerpam numero: neque enim concludere versum dixeris esse satis neque, siqui scribat uti nos sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse poetam. ingenium cui sit, cui mens divinior atque os magna sonaturum, des nominis huius honorem. They dread our verse and hate the poets. “Flee!  Far! For there's hay tied to his horns. He won't  spare any friend to raise a laugh. Whatever  he scribbles down on paper, everyone  must know about it.” Listen, let me say  that first I’d cut my name from lists of poets; just churning out a verse is not enough. Someone like me, who writes in common language,  doesn't deserve it. Give that name to one  whose soul is honoured so

                                                                  ... cum mea nemo scripta legat, volgo recitare timentis ob hanc rem, quod sunt quos genus hoc minime iuvat, utpote pluris culpari dignos. quemvis media elige turba: aut ob avaritiam aut misera ambitione laborat. hic nuptarum insanit amoribus, hic puerorum: hunc capit argenti splendor;   Nobody reads my writing; I'm afraid to read aloud, because some care but little for it, and most men are at fault. Pick one  out in the crowd: for greed he'll toil, or low ambition. This one's mad for married skirt,  that one for boys, a third for silver's gleam.